


Special Friends

by FujinoLover



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 02:58:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8951191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FujinoLover/pseuds/FujinoLover
Summary: Shaw needed a fix and she knew just the right person. Funny how deaths brought people together.





	

After everything that happened, Shaw had no place to call her own. The library was long compromised when Samaritan went online. Her apartment got trashed when her cover was blown. The subway was beyond repair and Root’s ‘bedroom’ only brought unwanted memories she didn’t want to deal with. With the way the numbers came almost nonstop—despite The Machine’s other team—and her new status as primary asset, analog interface, _and_ admin, she didn’t even have time to relax.

She didn’t miss New York City and the friends she had found and lost there, but being there was inevitable. So whenever she had to be in the city, she paid a visit to an old friend. This time armed with a bottle of red wine she took from the latest number’s home. The door jerked open before she finished picking the lock.

“Shaw.”

“Zoe.”

Zoe had a disapproving frown on her face. “Can’t you knock?” She opened the door wider to let Shaw in nonetheless. The gun she held on her other hand came into view.

Shaw hadn’t expected any less. “Not if I can help it,” she said, shrugging. She followed Zoe inside, placing the bottle on the kitchen counter and taking off her leather jacket.

“You got a job in the area?”

“Something like that.”

They had been doing this for a while. Long enough for Shaw to have a drawer on the nightstand, although there were only a handful of things inside. She retrieved two particular items after stripping off her clothes, sans her bra, while Zoe popped open the wine and drank straight out of the bottle. Shaw smirked as she secured the harness around her hips. Judging from the way Zoe had her eyes following her every movement, it was going to be _that_ kind of night.

(Not that there were many in the first place.)

Zoe’s number had been the first to come up after The Machine beat Samaritan. Shaw had stepped in just in time, but it was clear that she wasn’t the one Zoe had expected. The smile she had when she asked if John was lurking around the corner fell as Shaw shook her head. It must be something on her face. Maybe she didn’t look angry that time and it gave her away. _No news is no news_ , she had said in a poor attempt of comfort. She envied the way Zoe had looked away, eyes shimmering with unshed tears as she grieved for John.

All Shaw felt for losing Root was anger. Because she had sacrificed herself in the stock exchange so Root lived. Because she had chosen to blow her brains out over and over again in more than seven thousand simulation than killing Root. Because when she almost gave up after nine months of psychological torture, she hung on for Root. Because she would rather kill herself than to risk Root’s life. She was angry because everything she had done to keep Root alive was useless and she felt nothing but anger.

Zoe must have noticed her frustration and somehow talked her into going to the nearest bar in broad daylight. It only made everything worse because it was the one they had gone to with Joss, and well, she was dead too. Shaw only managed to down a shot before she asked if Zoe wanted to get out of there. They ended up in Zoe’s place, which was quite similar to Shaw’s but way more expensive. One drink escalated into a whole bottle of scotch and drunk make-out led to a sloppy, angry sex.

It then became a habit. The warm body of someone familiar. The regret of lost time and unsaid words. Shaw got used to it like she got used to the dildo sticking out between her legs. Root, who was never one for penis, not even the fake ones, would have laughed at how silly she looked at the moment. Zoe, on the other hand, licked her lip. From the way her eyes darkened and the sway of her hips as she stalked up to her, Shaw was sure Zoe found it hot.

It was kind of weird—the way Zoe grabbed on the shaft and used it to pull Shaw to her. She rubbed along the length, leathering it with the lube she had squirted on her palm when Shaw was too distracted with taking off her clothes. Her ministration was firm and purposeful as it continued on, falling into an easy rhythm of push and pull that left Shaw’s clit tingling for more. After one particular hard push, Shaw gasped and blunt nails dug into naked hips and Zoe smirked against her lips.

Zoe shoved Shaw back to sit on the edge of her king-sized bed. The skin-colored silicone glistened as it stood proud on her crotch. Zoe sat on her lap, setting her wet heat on a strong thigh. It was easy then, for Shaw to keep herself busy suckling on a nipple and rolling the other between her fingers and pretended that it was Root on top of her. It was Root grinding against her thigh. It was Root’s soft hair brushing against her cheek. It was Root’s ass she griped to bring their bodies closer. It was always Root she missed the most.

All of a sudden, everything halted. Shaw moved away from the chest she was worshipping. She blinked. A wrong shade of blonde hair came into view. Zoe was staring down at her with concern. She frowned back. There was an unsaid agreement of no feelings attached and if Zoe began to develop some for her then—

“Are you okay?”

Zoe’s voice was raspy with sex and her body was thrumming with arousal, but the touch of her thumb was soft when she wiped the side of Shaw’s cheek.

_“Looks like someone crawled in under the fence.” Root had just taken her gloves off. Her thumb was warm against Shaw’s cheek and the nail painted black into perfection. Shaw felt her heart slowed down from the race it was in—it must be because she had just biked across the city and not because she was relieved that Root was safe. “Admit it, you were worried about me.”_

Just like then, Shaw rolled her eyes. “Use the stun gun.”

“Excuse me?”

Shaw gritted her teeth. Zoe wasn’t Root with her penchant for breathplay and bondage and electroshock, just like she wasn’t John. But if she could work herself to wear the stupid strap-on, then Zoe could bring herself to taser her.

“Your pink phone—the little gift from John. I want you to taser me.”

Instead of bolting off like Shaw had thought she would, Zoe smiled. “You and Turing were into some kinky things, Shaw,” she said as she dug out the aforementioned device from her nightstand drawer.

“Root,” Shaw breathed on. It had been a long while since she said the name aloud. “Her name is— _was_ Root.”

There was no pity when their eyes met, only an understanding that they both had lost the people they cared about. Shaw would have ducked the peck Zoe planted on her cheek if the stun gun hadn’t made contact with her shoulder. She dropped back to the bed, shuddering from the aftereffect and clenched her eyes shut. Zoe held on her shoulders as she settled back on her lap, this time taking the dildo inside her.

And if they called the other with different name as they came, neither mentioned anything afterward.

 

* * *

 

“You’re still here.”

Even without makeup and sleep on the edge of her eyes, Zoe looked like she was ready to tackle some problem downtown. Shaw stared back from her spot leaning against the granite countertop of the kitchen. She recalled the way Root’s early morning grumpiness changed into her usual wide smile whenever she found that Shaw had stayed in—as though she wasn’t the one with the habit of sneaking out at any time of the night whenever The Machine needed her somewhere else.

“Mornin’.” Shaw lifted her cup of coffee in greeting. There was enough left in the pot. Zoe had this amazing French-press coffee maker, one that Shaw was sure Harold would own if he was into coffee instead of tea. “Need the caffeine. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Help yourself,” Zoe said as she slipped out of the bed, naked as the day she was born.

Shaw didn’t cast her eyes elsewhere while she took another sip. It was nothing she hadn’t seen or touched before, but she appreciated it all the same. Root would have teased her by now.

“ _Enjoying the view, sweetie?_ ” The Machine asked just in time.

Shaw shook her head, hiding her exasperated grin behind the rim of her cup. From across the room, Zoe cocked a brow and Shaw pretended she didn’t notice the questioning stare. As open as Zoe had been with their little arrangement, she didn’t need to know about The Machine or how She moaned and gasped in Shaw’s ear to fill the silence she left during sex.

When Shaw didn’t offer an explanation, Zoe dropped it as usual. She had taken a robe from her closet and was tying it around her waist as if she was only putting on a coat over a dress before going out. She felt Shaw’s eyes on her, but didn’t feel uncomfortable or shy or smug (Root had done all three in different occasions).

Zoe wasn’t modest. She was confident in her skin and it made her beautiful. The kind of dangerous beauty that came with the intricacy of political world and powerful words and nice pair of heels—instead of two guns at once and motorcycle and black-painted nails Shaw was familiar with.

“Our mutual friend—the _other_ mutual friend got me the coffee maker.” Zoe had come to stand beside Shaw and filled a cup for herself. Her feet were bare and her blonde hair was messy like a lion’s mane. “I don’t even have the time to use it.”

Shaw grinned to herself. Of course Harold did. And while Zoe never asked about him, she had a pretty good idea of what happened to him. They stood side by side in silence, except for the occasional sipping of their black coffee. Zoe was halfway done with hers when her phone beeped with a reminder and she abandoned the unfinished drink in the sink.

“I have an appointment in an hour. Breakfast?”

It was the third time Zoe asked; many times Shaw hadn’t stayed the night. The offer was just that, a casual offer from a friend who slept together from time to time. The food was probably good and it was probably from some fancy restaurant that Zoe frequented—because Zoe didn’t cook. Root did.

Like the other two times, Shaw declined. “I gotta go.” She placed her empty cup next to Zoe’s and put on her jacket. “Bear’s with a friend.”

Zoe brushed off the rejection with a smile. “Bring him here next time.”

Shaw nodded, grinning back a little. “I’ll see you when I see you.” And left before she could hear Zoe’s reply.

It was a lie. Shaw wasn’t going to involve Bear and let whatever she was having with Zoe grew into anything. Because Zoe was a good person, someone she knew and had worked with once. She was someone Shaw could trust and like beyond their occasional fucking, but didn’t. Just like she didn’t take Fusco’s offer to stay with Lee and him whenever she was in town. Because there was a pattern, one that Samaritan had pointed out in every simulation through its boring game of _dead or alive_ : everyone she cared about would always end up dead.

(She only had Fusco and Zoe now. She didn't want either of them dying anytime soon.)


End file.
